The Lost Realm
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: Hurin's adventures among the Dunedain. Usual AU and Fanon warnings.
1. The Lake of Evendim

Hurin of Gondor was more than a little relieved to learn the old Queen of Arnor was but a guest at Rivendell and had a holding of her own in the far western reaches of the Lost Realm. To his mind the House of Elrond Half-Elven was a fine place to visit but he didn't fancy living there!

And so they set out on the Great East-West Road, the Lady and her two Women clad in the same worn and rusty green as her Ranger escort. At the Weather Hills they turned northward, stopping at Greymere - house of the Wardens of the Hills - and again at the King's Holding in the dales north of ruined Fornost before reaching the verges of the Evendim Forest on the seventh day of their journey.

Narrow tracks, thick bedded with pine needles and old leaves, wound mazelike between massive trunks of black pine and hemlock and silvery beech. The Rangers tread them confidently, riding single file and without lights, turning and twisting in the green twilight beneath the trees. Every now and again there would be a glimpse of ruddy westerning sun lighting a clearing and a half timbered house gaily painted white and red or green and gold or yellow and blue, each with its kitchen garden watered by a tinkling brook. It was full dusk by the time they reached the edge of the great lake. A finger of rippling silken waters lay before them with dark trees showing on the far shore and nearer a great, foursquare fortress-like mass floating above the grey surface.

The party dismounted and some of the Rangers led the horses away. The rest, including Hurin, stepped into the slender boats, grey as lake water, drawn up on the narrow strand and rowed silently, without ripple or splash, to the great house. As they drew closer Hurin saw it was built of gigantic logs weathered like stone rising high as the Pelannor wall with a row of glazed windows showing beneath the peaked roof and rounded embrasures at each corner. Then they passed under the house, weaving through the great piles that supported it, before emerging into a square of water with filled with boats moored to overhanging porches and overlooked by numerable windows, balconies and galleries all carved and painted with motifs very familiar to Hurin's eye; tree and stars, ships and swans, moons and suns, eagles and gulls. And some that were not; axes and dragons, cornflowers and niphredil, fountains and jewels.

They tied up to a porch tucked into a corner and the Lady Ellemir jumped out, nimble as a youth, followed by the rest. She led the way down a narrow open passage, lit only by the fading dusk and the yellow light streaming through the far end, into a hall at least as

large as that of the Kings back home in Minas Tirith. The floor was strewn with rushes and herbs and a forest of candles blazed in great wheel shaped chandeliers hanging from the high, hammer beamed ceiling. The walls were paneled to the height of a Man but above that they were covered by great, rippling tapestries of unrivaled artistry depicting the Settlement and the Downfall of Numenor in shimmering silks and gold and silver thread, each scene lit by a glittering Star wrought of clustered crystals.

Ellemir saw Hurin staring. "The Departure and Settlement tapestries were made by Silmarien for her chamber in Andunie, or so they say." she remarked. "Elemmire, my ancestress and namesake, wove the Downfall and Return for her hall in Dunhirion."

Hurin couldn't think of an answer to that. The Lady's tone was quite matter of fact. These Northerners spoke so casually of ancient things, as if they were somehow closer to the Elder Days then their Southern kin. Tearing his eyes from the tapestries Hurin looked at the people in the Hall and wondered if perhaps it wasn't so for Elves and Dwarves mixed easily with the Men and Women, talking quietly together in Sindarin just as if they were in some ancient hall in fallen Beleriand. Three great banners hung above the high table on the dais; the new moon of Isildur and the seven and one stars of Elendil flanking a broken sword beneath a single star - the device, Hurin later learned, of the Elemmirioni.

Ellemir's escort of Rangers silently melted away as she walked briskly the length of the hall until only her women and Hurin remained. They went through a door off the into a withdrawing room, or parlor, its paneled walls hung with brilliantly patterned Numenorian carpets, its floor covered with rush matting, lit by candles and a fire burning in a stone hearth at the center of the room.

Hurin looked at this in some awe. He knew what it was; a hon maren 'the heart of the house' 1. Every home in Gondor had one, cold and unlit save during the midwinter festival. The cult of the Flame like many ancient observances had long lapsed in the Southlands, but not here. A carved stone table stood by the hearth laid with an earthenware bowl and a rack of candles, sockets thick with wax drippings. The Lady Ellemir took a pinch of meal from the bowl and sprinkled it on the fire with a low invocation, then lit a candle from the flames and set it in the rack. Only then did she turn to the handful of people waiting quietly for her attention.

Two high backed chairs were set, side by side, near the hearth. One was painted and gilded and had a design of jewel and star emblazoned on a roundel in its back. The other was carved with twining dragons and set with a lozenge bearing a dragon and star.2 Ellemir seated herself in the gilded chair, signing for Hurin to stand beside her, and looked at the tall, silver fair Elf Hurin had been doing his best not to stare at.

"Well, Celebros, dare I hope this is no more than a visit to your favorite cousins?"

Cousins? The Elf smiled ruefully. "Would that it were, Ellemir, but the Forest grows no quieter and my father fears the trees and creatures gather for battle."

Trees? "It has been more than thirty years since the last attack." the tall, grim Ranger standing beside the Elf observed. "Another is due."

"So it is." Ellemir agreed, and turned to Hurin. "I present to you all Hurin son of Beren, a Lord of Gondor who has sworn his sword to the King." he bowed, nervously. The Queen continued: "My nephew and Captain Halbarad son of Barahir." the Ranger nodded polite acknowledgement. "His daughter, Nienor." This was a white and slender lady, sitting silent on a stool, all robed in soft grey her long dark hair falling around her like a cloak. And our good kinsman and ally Celebros of the Lake."

The Elf smiled and explained. "I am son to Elured, brother of Elwing, and so kin to the Elendilioni."

"Elured!" Hurin echoed, caught by surprise. "But - did not he and his brother die at the hands of the Feanori?"

Gull wing brows rose and Celebros answered: "Do they tell the tale so in Gondor? Well perhaps they might - for the true end was not known until after Elendil returned and why should the news spread beyond the North?

No, young Hurin, they did not die - though surely they were meant to. My father and uncle were succored by birds sent by Melian, our foremother, who guided them home to Tol Galen where they dwelt alone until driven forth by the sinking of Beleriand."

My Grandsire, Celeborn of Doriath who was King of the Lake in those days, found them among the refugees and made them kings of Harlindon as they were the rightful heirs of Elu and Dior. But my father wedded Lorellin, Celeborn's elder daughter, and so succeeded to the throne of the Lake when Grandfather surrendered it." 3

Elured son of Dior, grandson of Luthien still alive here in the North? Dazed Hurin barely heard, and certainly did not understand the conversation that followed between the Rangers and their Elven kinsman.

"Father has sent for Amarthon but not yet called upon our allies for aid." Celebros said.

Ellemir nodded. "Better to be sure we need help before we summon it. It may be that your folk and mine can handle this matter ourselves."

"Best to have Amarthon's judgment on that." said Lord Halbarad.

"Of course." said his aunt.

"In the meantime Father has reinforced our wardens on the northern march." said Celebros.

"Very good." Ellemir looked at her nephew. "No doubt you have already strengthened our patrols in the chases."

Halbarad gave a faint, wintery smile. "Of course. So far they have reported nothing unusual."

"Nor for that matter have our wardens." said Celebros. "But the deep wood mutters menaces."

"Doesn't it always?" the Lady asked dryly, then raised a hand as Celebros' eyebrows twitched response. "I know, I know. There are mutterings and mutterings." She looked grim. "Armegil reports increased raids in the North, Trolls and Men both. I trust our enemies and his have not made alliance."

"Only if Angmar or one of his lieutenants has returned." said Halbarad even more grimly.

"I have ever loved my Mortal kin for their bright and sunny apprehension." Celebros observed drolly making all three Rangers smile, and for a moment look not grim at all.

Ellemir laughed. "Point taken, Celebros. Sufficient the evil we know without fearing more. If our fears have substance we will learn of it soon enough."

"To soon." said Halbarad and his Elven cousin grimaced expressively.

The Lady Nienor spoke for the first time. "Now that we have settled to do nothing, should we not see to making the Lord Hurin welcome?"

"Of course." Ellemir smiled ruefully at him, the grim years fell away and he was startled yet again by her beauty. "Forgive us, my new liege, but matters of war needs must come even before the duties of hospitality."

"So we say in Gondor." said Hurin, smiling in return.

"Nienor will show you to a chamber. I will expect you back here within the hour to share our supper."

Hurin bowed to the Queen, to the Dunedain Captain and Elven lord and finally to the Lady Nienor to indicate his readiness to follow her.

She opened a door in the wall near her stool and led him into a high but narrow passage lit by eerie silver-blue lamps suspended from the ceiling. After a jog to the right the corridor widened and Hurin saw many doors in the wainscoted walls. The Dunedain woman glided lightly before him like a slender shadow, the house around them silent save for the water lapping against the piles beneath their feet.

Finally the lady stopped, opened one of the many doors and preceding him inside lit a lamp. The blessedly normal yellow light showed a plain chamber, longer than it was wide, with unadorned grey plaster walls. But the floor was ankle deep in sheepskins; the low wide bed spread with a richly patterned coverlet, a carved chest at its foot. Gold inlays sparkled in a small table by the bed-head. There was a cross legged stool and the branching bronze lamp, wrought in in the form of twisted tree, upholding three lights.

Nienor kindled the other two and turned to him with a smile lighting her sad and gentle face. "Be welcome, kinsman, and regard this house as your home." the traditional formula. "Stay but a moment and I will return with water." and off she went with light step.

She was as quick as she had promised, but then one didn't have to go far to fetch water in this house! Nienor reentered bearing pitcher and basin herself, linen towels draped over her shoulder, followed by a young man in blue and grey livery carrying Hurin's saddle bags. She poured the water and laid the towels ready. The squire placed the bags on the chest at the bed's foot and both withdrew, with smiles but no words, leaving Hurin to contemplate yet another difference between the North and his homeland. In Gondor such menial gestures of welcome had long since been consigned to servants but here in the Lost Realm they kept to the antique custom of the ladies of the house themselves waiting on their guests - even far humbler ones then himself as he was to learn.

Footnotes:

1. The 'cult of the Flame' is my invention, based loosely on Roman practices, but the 'hon maren' is not. Tolkien mentions it in 'The Lost Road'. The hearth in Elrond's 'Hall of Fire' is a 'hon maren'. Though he has chosen to be numbered among the Elder race Elrond still observes the traditions of his Mortal ancestors - at least in my Fanon!

2. These are the personal devices of Ellemir, (whose name means 'Star Jewel') and of her late husband Arador who slew a dragon in the Grey Mountains in his youth.

3. This version of the fate of Elured and Elurin is of course mine but based on possibilities considered by Tolkien, the birds for example were his idea. The connection between Celeborn and Galadriel and Lake Evendim is based on one of Tolkien's several drafts of their history, however their daughter Lorellin is entirely my own, as is her son Celebros.


	2. Nen Giliath

After the supper dishes were cleared away Captain Halbarad spread a large, beautifully painted map out on the table . "This is the Line of Defense." he said, tracing an arc from the tip of Lake Evendim, through Arnost on the North Downs to a place with the outlandish name of Kai Kiriath on the Mitheithel. Halbarad indicated the small towers spaced along the broad red border. "These are the watch houses of our patrols."

There were other red lines and other watch houses painted beneath the great Line, cordons of defense around the few islands of habitation that punctuated the Wild; Bree, the Shire of the Halflings, the River Villages along the lower Baranduin, and the Angle between the Mitheithel and Bruinen.

Places of special danger were also marked: The northern Emyn Uial, the Old Forest on the edge of the Shire, the Barrow Downs near Bree, marshlands along the Baranduin, Orc and Troll nests in the Ettenmoors, pestholes in the Lone lands and Trollshaws and dotting Minhiriath, the land between the Baranduin and the Gwathlo.

Looking at the amount of red on the map Hurin found himself reflecting grimly that it was as well his Northern kin numbered in their hundred thousands, for surely there was work enough for them to do. He also saw, very clearly, why Prince Armegil feared breaking their secrecy. The Northern Dunedain's war was not at all like Gondor's with its strongholds and well defended frontier, It was a hidden, outlaw war such as Turin had fought in the wilds of Beleriand three ages of the world ago. Secrecy was indeed their only defense.

"Carn Dum has been rebuilt, though there is no sign that Angmar nor any of his lieutenants have returned - as yet." Halbarad was saying. "Pressure on the Line has been increasing these four score years. Trolls openly walk the Lone-lands and upper Angle and Mountain Orcs have raided as far west as the Weather Hills. For now we are holding our own, but how long we can do so -" he shook his head.

Even the Elven prince seemed sobered. "And now the Forest is stirring."

"And we must do what we can about it." said the Old Queen. "As warden of The Evendim Hills the Forest is in my charge." she explained to Hurin.

Celebros smiled a challenge. "My Mother and Father would argue that."

Ellemir laughed. "Oh very well then. I share the burden with the King and Queen of the Lake!"

"Better." said Celebros.

Halbarad rolled up the first map and replaced it with another showing Lake, Hills and Forest. The Lady placed her finger on a drawing of a tower at the northern tip of the Hills, slashed through with red. "This was Barad Uial - the Tower of Twilight - stronghold of the Wardens until we were forced to pull back the Line in 2852."

"That was a bad year in Gondor too." Hurin said. "The year the White Tree died."

She smiled crookedly. "I know. We heard and wondered if it meant the Isildurioni too would fail."

Celebros cleared his throat. "Fortunately young Arador found himself a wife after all and the line continued."

The Lady laughed again and even her somber captain cracked a smile. Arador, Hurin suddenly remembered had been her husband and the Lord Aragorn's grandsire. "And so I brought my people here." she resumed, "and built Nen Giliath as our stronghold and the western anchor of the Line -"

"You built!" Hurin interrupted involuntarily. "But - but I thought all this happened more than a century ago?"

"And so it did." she answered mildly. "One hundred and twenty-eight years to be exact. But I will have lived one hundred and forty-six this coming September."

Hurin stared at the Lady, still beautiful and still in full vigor at such an age. It was wonderful - and humbling. "My people no longer live so long." was all he could find to say.

"Nor, alas, do many of ours." she answered and continued: "Our patrols have been unable to keep Orcs and Trolls and other things from settling in caves and hollows of the northern Hills but at least we have prevented any raids westward into the Lune valley." Her finger traced the blue line of the River Lune. "The east bank is my responsibility, the west that of the Warden of Lune Vale whose Men guard the gap between the southern reach of Forochel and my Hills.

Her pointing finger moved to an arc of trees, illuminated in gold and green, on the western shore of the great lake. "This is the Elven Wood, domain of Elured and Lorellin, and this is Rhuath Uial, their seat. Our people dwelt on the southern shore. Here is Annuminas," she touched a tiny golden dome in the south-east corner of the Lake, "and all around us is the Dark Forest."

It was indeed. On the map a mass of green and black trees encircled three sides of the Lake, including the Elven Wood and Annuminas and pressed hard against the northern shores and a thin blue line running into the long finger of water that held Nen Giliath. "As you can see the eastern shore is safe, so far at least, defended by the running water of the Gil-Celos."

The eastern bank was dotted with tiny houses and Hurin remembered the woodland assarts they had passed on their way to the stronghold. "That is where the bulk of your people live?"

"No. More dwell on the eastern bank of the Lune." the Lady answered. "I can muster perhaps two or three thousand Rangers all told but to do so would mean leaving the Hills, the northern border of the Shire and my portion of the Line un-patrolled." she looked at Celebros. "a few hundreds only can I promise at need."

the Elf smiled crookedly. "The Kingdom of the Lake too has dwindled far from it's ancient strength. If we must go to war with the Forest we will need help."

"That I know." said the Lady.

The session with the maps left Hurin with much to think on and he had more than enough time to do so for his new liege lady paid him no further attention beyond the occasional courteous word in passing. This would not have troubled him but Captain Halbarad had also apparently forgotten his existence leaving Hurin entirely adrift in the strange household.

Rangers came and went, stern, taciturn and unapproachable, as did their equally silent, soft footed Women busy about their many tasks. Nen Giliath hummed like a beehive with activity yet there was nothing to which to Hurin could usefully turn a hand for he soon realized that he'd been trained for a very different kind of war then that waged in the North. If only he'd become an Ithilien Ranger rather than a mounted knight, or been taught blacksmithing or carpentry or some other useful craft!

In addition to the grim Men and withdrawn Women there were children at Nen Giliath, perhaps a score or so belonging to various of the Lady's retainers, lithe and sun browned with an occasional gold or silver head among the dark ones. They swam like fish, climbed like squirrels, played and quarreled and chased each other up and down hall and passage in cheerful disregard of their elders who merely smiled benignly and got out of the way.

That at least was familiar to Hurin for the Southern Dunedain were just as indulgent. Children were all to rare a gift and treasured accordingly. Gondorian youngsters also ran wild while their elders smiled until they grew old enough to be sobered by the burden of Gondor's long war. The charge of the Northern Dunedain was even weightier and had to be met with fewer resources, still it was hard to believe the grave and regal adults had ever been merry, playful little ones like those Hurin found himself dodging as he wandered aimlessly through the stronghold. Then one day he failed to dodge.

He had lost himself yet again in the tangle of windowless passages, lit by the eerie blue Elf lamps, that wound through the upper levels of the stronghold. Turning a corner he found himself suddenly assailed by fierce warriors, heavily armed with short bows, wooden swords and pointless spear hafts.

"You are outnumbered and surrounded!" proclaimed the tallest of the boys brandishing his sword. "Lay down your arms and you will not be harmed!"

As it happened Hurin wasn't bearing any arms but he unbuckled a pretend swordbelt and laid it on the ground at the captain's feet.

"Resistance is useless." announced a girl behind him.

"I can see that." Hurin answered. "Er - may I ask who I'm surrendering to?"

"Captain Turin and his band of outlaws." the tall boy informed him, then pointed to another with silver fair hair. "That is Beleg of Doriath, bearer of the great bow."

Memories of Hurin's own, not so distant childhood flooded back. They played at Turin and his Outlaws in Minas Tirith too.

"Are you Orc or Man?" asked a third boy.

"Man." said Hurin firmly. "Definitely Man."

"Right," said Captain Turin, "in that case you may join our band."

"If you refuse we must slay you or hold you prisoner in our caves." the oldest of the girls advised him solemnly.

"Oh I want to join." Hurin assured them. "What do we do now, Captain?"

The boy grinned. "We're on our way to raid a gruesome Orc stronghold for treasure."

"A worthy aim." said Hurin. "Whence lies this evil place?"

The Orc cave proved to be the kitchens with its three great fireplaces and red tiled floor. The Women and young Men working there pretended not to notice the members of the outlaw band creeping cautiously, one by one, across the room to the pantries beyond. Hurin did not creep, the Captain had posted him as guard on the door. Soon his new companions returned loaded down with booty.

"Now back to our caverns quick, before the Orcs find us!"

Nen Giliath had its storage cellars, not underground of course but a string of large rooms on the first level their unfinished walls showing the great grey logs of which the stronghold was built. The outlaws wound their way between high piled barrels of wine and beer, salt meat and fish, and flour and meal, past bins of fruit and vegetables and shelf upon shelf of preserves. Great black hams hung like chunky stalactites from the low ceiling .

The outlaw stronghold was in a darksome corner. Somebody lit a lantern and the yellow light showed a three legged table, the fourth corner propped on a barrel. Boards were laid over small kegs for benches and there was a big chair of old barrel staves for the Captain. Hurin was duly impressed.

"This is fine, much better than what my last outlaw band had." Back in the days when he and his sisters had played Helm and Bow they'd used the furnace room for their cave. It had been much smaller, very sooty and the furniture entirely imaginary.

The children beamed at the compliment. "Want to see our dungeon?" the littlest boy asked eagerly.

"Oh yes, please."

The dungeon was a large and empty bin turned on its side with straw sprinkled on its floor and came complete with iron fetters which Hurin identified as the broken chains from a roasting jack, having found many a use for same in his own younger days. There was also a wooden trencher and a clay ewer. "Very dark and oppressive." was his verdict. "I'm glad I decided to join you."

"This is our escape tunnel." said one of the middle boys pulling Hurin to the opposite side of the headquarters and moving a barrel lid to reveal a roughly sawed hole in the boards of the floor with grey lake water rippling some little distance below.

"We didn't cut it." the eldest girl assured him. "It's been there for a long time."

Hurin ran a hand over the well worn edges and wondered if a small Lord Aragorn or Prince Armegil and his brother had also played at outlaws down here.

"Come see our treasury!" said the Captain.

This was two bins both full of the same kind of interesting and useful bits and pieces that Hurin nostalgically recalled keeping in the well house back home before the gardener found his hoard and threw it all away. "You must be very successful outlaws to have such a fat, full treasury." he told his hosts.

"All right, he's seen everything, can we eat now?" another of the middling sized boys demanded.

Captain Turin snapped; "Don't fuss, Bregol!" then fell back into character: "Come, my Men, let us celebrate our successful foray with a merry feast!"


	3. Allies

Hurin was not surprised to discover the booty from the Orc cavern was eatables of various kinds. "Those are deer I shot with my great bow." the silver haired young Beleg informed him gravely, pointing to a brace of cooked rabbits.

"Right." said the captain. "And that -" indicating a large, round pastry, "Is a boar killed by us after a tremendous battle."

"Ah." said Hurin appreciatively. "And I see you have fair fruits gathered with much labor from the wilds." and he pointed to the dried apples stuck all over with raisins, honey glazed wafers and a great store of wall and chestnuts. The children beamed approval.

As they ate they dropped character and introduced themselves properly: The captain's name was Amlas and the oldest girl Luneth and middle one Aewen, were his sisters. The boy Bregol was their cousin. Meglin, who was of an age with Bregol, was the brother of little Cabor and the lovely, pale haired youngest girl was the sister of 'Beleg'. His name was Gwaer and hers Ninui - "Because she's always crying." her brother explained.

"Am not!" she denied furiously.

"Are too." said Gwaer.

"Am not!" she repeated, emphatic tears starting in her eyes.

"You are right this minute!"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are! Isn't she, Amlas?"

Hurin thought it wise to intervene. "A delicate sensibility is desirable in a fair lady." he said firmly.

The children looked dubious but were to well trained to contradict a guest.

"And you are Hurin from the southern kingdom." Luneth said. "Did the Dunadan send you to us?"

By now Hurin had learned that this was what his Northern subjects called Isildur's Heir. "Not directly." he answered carefully. "But certainly I came because of him, to make some small return for the service he has done our people."

"You play very well." Meglin told him kindly.

Hurin smiled. "Thank you. My sisters and I used to play Bow and Helm."

"Oh! of course you'd know the same stories." Amlas said in tones of discovery. "Did you do Barahir and his band too? And the wars of Doriath?"

"Oh yes."

"But only the oldest stories." said Luneth, frowning a little. "Not the ones from the days of the Kings like Valandur and the Dragon and the Witch Wars."

"I know a little about the latter." Hurin answered. "Our King's son led an army to the aid of your folk."

"That was the Last War." Amlas nodded. "Before we vanished."

"We're secret now." Gwaer explained. "We fight from hiding like the outlaws of old."

"So Prince Armegil told me." Hurin said a little grimly.

For a moment the children didn't seem to know who he meant, then understanding dawned. "Oh! You mean the Captain." said Amlas. "We don't have princes and lords any more."

"So I have been told." Hurin said even more grimly.

Hurin pursued his friendship with the band of children, the first he had made here in the North, and was soon included in their games and most but not all of their projects. One day Amlas, Luneth and Gwaer found him in the hall and tugged him aside for a private conference, small faces worried.

"I think we may be in trouble -" Amlas began.

"There's no 'may' about it." Luneth grumbled.

Her brother hushed her impatiently. "We had an idea. You know how much time and labor it takes to churn milk into butter and cheese? Well ducks paddle don't they? So why not have them paddle the milk instead of churning?"

Hurin restrained both his alarm and his hilarity by a tremendous effort of will allowing nothing but sympathetic interest to show upon his face. "It didn't work?"

"Not at all." Luneth answered. "They splashed the milk out of the basins and flew around knocking things over and shedding feathers."

"But we cleaned it up." Gwaer put in hopefully. "Maybe nobody will notice."

"They'll notice." Hurin said with conviction born of long and bitter experience. "They always notice."

"Besides there's all the milk and things we spoiled." Luneth swallowed unhappily. "I think we have to tell."

"What do you think?" Amlas asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid Luneth is right." Hurin told him. "It's always better to confess rather than be caught. And you can't risk somebody else being blamed can you?"

"No-o." Amlas conceded reluctantly.

"We were just trying to help." Gwaer said defensively.

"I told you we should have asked first." said Luneth.

"It usually is best to ask." Hurin agreed gravely. And so he helped the three older children gather up their cohorts, went with them to the Lady Nienor and stood by for moral support as they made their confession.

She took it with the calm characteristic of the Northern Dunedain. "An interesting and original idea." she said judicially after they told all. "But you would have done better to experiment in a small way before turning half a dozen ducks loose in the dairy. And you most certainly should have asked first."

"We were afraid you'd say no." Amlas admitted.

"Sometimes there is good reason for a no." Nienor replied. "You may take two days in your chambers to consider the wisdom of your actions. And each of you is to write a letter of apology to Ailin and the dairy staff for the extra work you have given them."

The children departed with drooping heads and dragging feet leaving the two adults to stare at each other for a moment before both melted into laughter. "Oh my!" Nienor gasped, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Oh my."

"Poor little things." Hurin wheezed. "Their intentions were good."

"Good intentions, alas, lead to trouble at least as often as bad ones. If not more so."

"I've noticed that." Hurin agreed wryly.

"When I was nine I decided to melt some nuggets of gold for the smiths and set fire to the forge." Nienor confessed.

Hurin grinned ruefully. "When I was eight my sisters and I tried to help the cooks stretch an insufficient amount of sugar by adding powdered sand." They shared another laugh.

"Oh well, there is something to be said for originality of thought." Nienor gasped after a time.

"And initiative." Hurin agreed, remembering what Grandfather had said about the sanded sugar.

Two days later Hurin celebrated the release of his little friends from durance vile by taking the lot fishing on the lake - or rather letting them take him. Having spent his life by the great river Hurin had some experience of boats but the fragile, shell-like Ranger craft were far trickier to handle and he had dressed lightly in the expectation of ending up in the water - which he did, twice, along with his giggling charges.

They stayed out till late afternoon. The sun was sinking towards the western hill, its rays gilding the rippling waters, and their two boats were half filled with fish. Hurin was about to propose they turn for home when little Ninui, in the second boat, gave a cry and pointed to the sky.

A spear point of great swans, golden white in the late sunlight, glided soundlessly overhead. Immediately the children began shouting and waving, rocking the two boats violently. Hurin clutched the sides trying desperately to steady his eggshell of a craft then looked up to see the swans turn from their northerly course and glide in to soft, plashy landings on the water around them.

They were huge, at least twice the size of ordinary swans, and so white they shone with bright black eyes and beaks of burnished gold. The children almost capsized the little boats in their excitement, reaching out eager hands to pet and calling the great birds by Sindarin names that struck a familiar chord in Hurin's mind but roused no clear memories: Isfin, Nolwen, Findri...

"Here now!" Hurin exclaimed in some alarm as little Ninui and Cabor, the smallest of the boys, scrambled onto the broad backs of two of the swans.

"It's all right," Luneth assured him, "they don't mind."

And they didn't, these great swans appeared to be much better tempered than the ones who decorated the lakes and pools of the White City's townlands. The two mounted birds took off, flapping slowly low over the water towards the grey bulk of Nen Giliath, the children squealing happily on their backs. The boats paddled after accompanied by the rest of the flock, Hurin watching anxiously as the swans with the children rose higher to skim over the roofs of the stronghold.

His concern proved unnecessary, both birds and little ones were discovered safe and sound, floating serenely in the still waters of the central pool when they reached it. Hurin and the older children moored their boats alongside the flight of water-steps leading up to the hall and the swan bearing Ninui bumped herself gently against the lowest of them. The little girl, taking the hint, dismounted. The great bird climbed up beside her, blurred, grew and transformed into a tall Elven lady with a cataract of white hair flowing over a great cape of snowy feathers.

Hurin's jaw dropped, and stayed dropped as one by one the swans mounted the steps and turned into lovely, dark haired, feather cloaked Elf women. The children didn't so much as blink, just hugged the ladies as eagerly as they'd petted the swans and went right on chattering happily.

The Lady Ellemir appeared in the archway above accompanied by Captain Halbarad and Nienor. She and the white haired Elf embraced like old friends. Nienor descended the steps to join a staring, bewildered, Hurin.

"Our allies are beginning to arrive." she said, as if that explained everything.

"Allies?" he echoed helplessly.

Nienor nodded. "Queen Isfin and her ladies from Amon Geleidh." as he continued to look blank. "You know, Isfin daughter of Feanor and her twelve swan maidens."

Memories of First Age nursery tales returned and he stared up the steps in disbelief as the last of the feather cloaked Elven ladies vanished under the archway with a child by each hand. "Here?"

"You remember Isfin and her following took refuge east of the Ered Lindon before the sinking of Beleriand." Nienor continued patiently. "They dwell now on an outlying mountain to the south and are old allies of our folk." She took his hand. "Come inside, you will take cold in those thin things."

Dumbly Hurin followed her up the steps and into the long dark passage to the hall. He had long thought the Elder Days felt somehow closer here in the North, but this appearance of characters from the oldest tales alive and real made it seem as if they had never passed away!


End file.
